


A Foul Limerick

by lesbomancy



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Gen, Minor Violence, Misogyny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 01:59:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6780763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbomancy/pseuds/lesbomancy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble for Leo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Foul Limerick

Leo rolled over, scratching at her neck.

Itchy, itchy, itchy, fucking itchy.

She'd been staying in shithole after shithole, each inn becoming less and less like a place to live and more like houses with bed bugs and straw lining the way. Leo sat up, her fingernails about to break the skin if she'd kept slashing away at her neck like she had been. So much for sleep - another twelve hours on the wagon and she'd just pass out in the wild.. after taking four hours to pitch camp and secure it against possible brigands. Why, oh by the Eight Divines, why did every tavern off the beaten path have to be manned by the worst sorts of administration?

Leo got up, bare toes wiggling against the cheap wooden flooring, her heel shifting just enough so she didn't impale her arch on a nail sticking right up out of the floorboards.

If they can't make a bed, why try to make a floor?

She shuffled (carefully) to her sandals, slipping them on before gathering the majority of her belongings before heading out the door. The door handle nearly snapped off as she shut it behind her and she let loose an uncomfortably loud belch, freeing the night's drink from her stomach just a little too much for comfort. She wobbled slightly as she made contact with the floor after a precarious journey down a set of steps that decided to wiggle a wee bit more than well-behaved stairs should, casting a glance at the drunken fools still reveling at the bar. A quartet of men lording themselves around a woman who looked more than a little uncomfortable.

They were singing, too. A god-awful limerick accompanied by the half-hearted strumming of a bard who was just as uncomfortable as the woman.

There was a young lady named Claire  
Who possessed a magnificent pair;  
Or that's what I thought  
'Til I saw one get caught  
On a thorn, and begin to lose air.

She snorted at first, approaching the group while mostly listening with a big grin on her face. Even if she had a little drink she could tell that the woman was itching as much as she was moments ago. The creeps were slurring and wielding around what looked to be a formed bag; soft, not particularly hard like some sort of seat insert for Bretons with asses that ended up a little too skinny from too much horseback riding. Then she noticed the woman's lack of chest... then the song. The woman was pleading with her silently, begging for help.

Fucking piss coward, might as well make a limerick about Leo the wuss.

Her eyes rolled heavily and she stumbled her way to her wagon, unhooking it and preparing her horses. She gave a loving pat on the head to her hound and pointed at the driver's chair. "Defend."

Normally she stayed out of business like this but the altruistic Imperial bit in her never truly died, not like it did with so many others in the Empire. That foggy, barely remembered bit of honor that the Legions pounded into her skull was rearing it's ugly head as she took up a shovel and scraped up a bunch of horse droppings, standing nearby to the inn's main window, watching. The frightened bard's strings plucked off-key and out of order, his voice cracking underneath the wave of chanting at the makeshift song which had all the complexity of... well, a drunken fucking limerick.

She waited until the men pushed the woman away to the bar, waving and shouting about new drinks and all the other shit that came with being a piss drunk moron. Leo hefted her shovel 'o shit and walked into the tavern, cocking the head of it to the side and dumping the mostly hardened droppings, grit, dirt and hay all over the table where the men sat. It splashed all over the grain table, into their empty or nearly empty mugs and one of them definitely got a mouth full of shit. She promptly hurled the shovel at the largest man's face and ran for her wagon like a rabbit out of an Oblivion portal.

The drunken men were behind her, sure, but not nearly fast enough now that she had her wagon ready. Tullius made a small boof as one of them got near, Leo smacking them hard on the hand with her scabbard-sheathed sword with a loud "FUCK OFF" as she snapped the reins with one hand to her stallions. Laughing and proud, she shouted the limerick back at the gentlemen and generally throughout the next twelve hours of her ride until dawn had come and turned to midday.

She hummed it to sleep, woke up with it in her head and pissed with it buzzing away on the tips of her lips. Eventually it faded from memory, it became distant and a part of her grand travels across Tamriel but every time she smelled horse shit it came back like she was reliving the very moment again. The poor titless bar woman and the cadre of filthy degenerates waving about her confidence booster like it was theirs to rip out of her top.

There was a young lady named Claire  
Who possessed a magnificent pair;  
Or that's what I thought  
'Til I saw one get caught  
On a thorn, and begin to lose air.


End file.
